And How Does That Make You Feel?
by 1967Impala
Summary: The missing scene in Asylum where Sam talks to Ellicott and more…When time is running out, how can Sam tell Dean that he knows his deepest secret?
1. Sessions and Secrets

A/N: Okay, here it is! Please be helpful and review and maybe even spread the word if you like it!!

Disclaimer: Not mine but I'm still hopeful!!

"Sam, let's cut the bull, shall we?" said Dr. Ellicott. Sam looked at him, surprised. He had thought that James Ellicott would ask him about touchy-feely yoga crap and ask him "And how does that make you feel?" over and over again. _Touchy-feely yoga crap? Man, I beginning to sound like Dean_.

Youre avoiding the subject. Sam wasnt sure what the doctor was talking about. He cocked his head a little and looked confused.

"What subject?" Sam asked.

"You. Now I'll make you a deal," Dr. Ellicott said, staring Sam straight in the eyes. Sam began to feel a little uncomfortable. He shifted in his seat and couldn't wait to get out of that office. _I can't believe Dean made me come here. He is such a jerk. But he would be making sarcastic comments and wouldn't get any information at all_. Sam snapped back when he realized the Ellicott was talking again.

Ill tell you all about the Roosevelt riot, if you tell me something honest about yourself. Ellicott leaned back in his chair and encouraged Sam with his eyes to talk. And Sam wanted to. But he also wanted to kill some spirits or whatever was in the asylum. And if he wanted to do that he had to get down to business. Sam gave the doctor another confused look. Honest? He couldnt remember the last time he completely honest with someone. Jess and the rest of his college buddies never knew the real him. He hadnt even told Dean about the nightmares about Jess at first. And he still had untold secrets. Seeing Sam was having a bit of trouble talking about something honest, Ellicott gave him an idea.

"Like, uh, this brother you're road tripping with. How do you feel about him?" Sam stared at him for a minute before responding.

"Well…"Sam hesitated, thinking of something to tell him without sounding crazy, talking about demons and spirits and such. If he talked about that, he would be sent to an asylum instead of willingly going to one.

"Go on, I'm listening," Dr. Ellicott said, snapping Sam back into the office. _Partial truth maybe? If I keep my feelings balled up inside they'll just get worse and worse. Besides, it's not like I hate Dean, I just have a few problems with the way he handles things. Or, really, the way he orders me to handle things_, Sam convinced himself.

My brother isdifferent. Hes smart but he doesnt apply himself in the ABC college sort of way. Hes more street smart. Not that thats bad, Sam explained with a grin, thinking back on how many times Deans quick thinking had saved his butt. Dr. Ellicott nodded and made a note on his legal pad.

"This brother, are you two particularly close?" Dr. Ellicott questioned. Sam grinned again.

Yeah, definitely. You could say he practically raised me, Sam said. More memories flooded in. Dean fixing Sam dinner when their Dad was out hunting. Dean and Sam goofing off in the empty hotel room. And his personal favorite, long forgotten until now, was when Dad was on a long hunting trip. Dean had led Sam into part of one of the largest hotel rooms they had stayed in. Dean had cleared all of the furniture and then had given Sam a soccer ball. They had played soccer the whole time Dad had been gone. It was memories like these that had made Sam love Dean. And hate Dad. Sams jaw clenched at the thought of John.

"Not a good relationship with your parents, Sam?" Ellicott questioned, knocking Sam back into reality. _Not a good relationship? Understatement_, Sam thought.

"My mom died when I was six months old," Sam said sadly as he thought, _And it was probably my fault_.

"If you don't mind me asking, how did your mom die?" Ellicott knew a breakthrough was coming. What he didn't know was that Sam wouldn't be telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Sam wanted to keep as many people as possible from knowing the truth about the darkness. He wished he still had that innocence and he would never take that away from anyone.

"A fire. Electrical," Sam lied. "It started in my nursery." _Oops, shouldn't have said that. He's going to have a field day with that one_, Sam thought.

"Your nursery? Do you feel responsible for her death?" Ellicott hit the nail on the head. It was like he had read Sam's mind.

"Of course not," Sam replied, lying yet again. He had gotten good at it. He had learned from the best. Dean could lie to you while looking you straight in the eye.

"That's strange. Usually people feel it was their fault. But it never is, you know?" Ellicott said, casually. But he stared at Sam, a stare that said that Ellicott knew Sam was lying. "Anyway, back to your parents. How do you feel about your dad?"

"Well…He and my brother get along better than we do," Sam said, for once truthful.

"And why is that?" Ellicott asked. Sam smiled and cocked his head.

"My brother is a very likable person," Sam said with a laugh. Every one night stand Dean had ever had in the time Sam had been with him came rushing back to him.

Likable in what way? Ellicott asked. Sam noticed that even though Dr. Ellicott probably didnt care what would ever become of Sam, he made it look like Sam was the most important person. Sam liked that feeling. Dean made him feelnot exactly second rate, but it wasnt much better. With Dean it was all orders, all the time. Sammy do this, Sammy shoot that, Sammy research this, Sammy dont scratch the Impala. That precious car meant everything to Dean. Sam knew deep down Dean cared for him but he had to remind himself sometimes. Sam looked up at Dr. Ellicott who was still waiting for an answer.

"Sorry. He can make practically anyone like him. Except kids. My brother hates kids," Sam finally replied. _Except Lucas_, Sam remembered. More memories. _We should go visit Lucas sometime. Dean would love that. Or would he?_ Dean tended to forget people easily. Facts about evil, he could remember at the drop of a hat. Names, people, faces, not so easily. Not to mention that was where Dean lost Bill Carlton and Jake Devins. Sam tried to tell him that he couldn't save everyone. _That was the first time I ever had to comfort him and that lasted, what? A day?_

"You're brother, does he have something like separation anxiety?" Ellicott asked.

"He doesn't like to be alone," Sam said, realizing something. Sam thought back tot the night when Dean came for him to help find Dad. Dean had said that he needed Sam to help him. Sam knew he didn't and had told him so. Dean had paused and replied, "Yeah, but I don't want to." Dean had always seemed like the invincible big brother. Recently Sam had found out Dean hated flying. Now Sam realized Dean had another fear. Loneliness. No wonder Dean always hooked up with all the girls. No wonder Dean had dragged him to Jericho.

"He's lonely," Sam said aloud, but it was for himself to hear. Of course Dean would never admit it but he had come very close. _How could I have been this stupid, this dense? And I thought I knew Dean_. His brother now had two chinks I his armor or at least that he knew of. That he knew of!

"I don't know him at all…" Sam whispered. Dean, his Dean, invincible Dean. They had grown up closer than most siblings. Why had Dean hidden this from him? There were two possible answers. Either they weren't as close as he thought or Dean had assumed Sam had known. The first one was stupid. They were close. Dean had raised Sam. So it must be Sam's fault. How many times had Dean hinted at his fears but Sam was too preoccupied or self centered to listen? For the first time since Sam had stepped foot in Dr. Ellicott's office, his memories failed him. _How could I be so blind?_ Sam asked himself as he paid Dr. Ellicott who looked a little confused at how the session had ended.

Sam's anger flared up at Dean. Dean always tried to get Sam to express himself but Dean wouldn't just come right out and say how he felt but he was criticizing Sam. _God, Dean, what the heck is with you? Express yourself Sam. Why don't you express yourself Dean? What, you can't? Because Dad told you to be strong? Because God knows you always listen to Dad. Forget about listening to me or anyone else in the world, only Dad because dean was his good little soldier_, Sam though mockingly and filed with hate_. No, I dont hate him. I really do love him even though he pushes my last nerve past the edge. I just wish that he would just tell me. God, I am the worst little brother throughout the world, I bet_.

Sam started to head outside to Dean and have a chick flick moment but he sat down in the waiting room thinking about how he was a bad little brother. He had never thought about Dean being vulnerable. When he thought about Dean's fear of flying, it was funny, good to use for making fun of him. Right then, inside Dr. Ellicott's waiting room, Sam made a promise to himself. From now on, he would pay attention to every little thing that came out of Dean's mouth, no matter how sarcastic. Finally, Sam regained his composure and went outside to Dean.

"What took you so long?" Dean asked with fake impatience. Sam searched Dean's eyes as he told him all about the riot and the dead Ellicott. Sam could see nothing out of the ordinary, but maybe he just couldn't pick it out.

Dean, meanwhile, was wondering what Sam did talk about. While there was a lot of information on the riot, there just wasnt enough to fill up the time frame Sam had been in there. Did he really express himself with one of his chick flick moments? No, Sam wouldnt tell a complete stranger personal things about his life. Sam hadnt even told him about those nightmares about Jess until recently. Still, a flicker of doubt remained.

Dean looked at Sam. _Why is he staring at me like that?_ Dean thought. _Well, it doesn't matter_. It_ hasn't happened…yet_. It was the fear that Sam would've gone in there and actually had a session with Ellicott.

A real session scared him. Dean had been to one once. The doctor had asked him all about his family and Mom's death. Dean had lied of course. He had started lying from a very young age. He had perfected the art. But he had hated that session. He skipped out on the sessions that the shrink dude had prescribed. He had told his dad that the physiatrist didn't need to see him again. It had worked and he had had to intercept a few phone calls and some letters but that was easy because Dad was always gone.

Dean had been picking up signals from Sam that Dean was pushing it with the orders. But Dean had thought that Sammy would understand. After all, they were incredibly close. Part of Dean didn't think so though. That part had seen Sam talking to Ellicott about how much he blamed Dean for everything about Jess, about how he couldn't go back to college now, no matter how much he wanted to. Dean wouldn't be able to stand it if Sam left. Dean wouldn't even have Dad then. Dean couldn't be alone. Sammy could never know though. He had too much on his plate already.

_Sam doesn't need to know that he's the only thing keeping me sane right now. That'd be too much pressure. Sam would crack and then I'd crack_, Dean thought. He had decided that right after Jess died and Sam decided to go hunting with him, Dean would never let on how relieved he was. He hated the fact Jess was dead and Sam was in so much pain but he was so happy when Sam had told him, "We've got work to do" that night. Only one hint had ever escaped Dean's mouth about how much he needed Sam. That night he came to get Sam to go find Dad.

He had told Sam that he didn't want to go by himself. Sam hadn't picked up on it and Dean was glad. He didn't want to have Sammy worrying over his big brother. Dean felt like his sole purpose was to keep his family together and he would not, could not, fail. He would never add to Sam or Dad's burdens. They had bigger ones then he did. He wasn't as important. He would do anything for them. He pretended not to care but he did. Dean kept everything bottled up. Not to mention Dean could tell Sam thought of him as invincible. And he should. Dean had saved his butt countless times. Dean always tried to live up to that standard. _Why is he staring at me like that? What is he not telling me?_

The funny thing was, Sam was thinking the same thing.

A/N: I know, it's kind of long but will yo stick with it because pain is just around the corner! Preview: Sam get's hurt and he needs to tell Dean. Also, a flashback. Anyway, leave me a review if you will! Pretty please with a cherry on top? Maybe if I can imitate Sam's puppy dog eyes? It's really easy! Just click the pretty button! Tell me your favorite part, a part I did awful on, what I could do to improve, anything!! Thanks for reading!!


	2. I Know

A/N: Thanks you all for reviews! For every review I update faster so please keep them coming!!

Disclaimer: Still not mine no matter how hard I hope...

_

* * *

__Why is he staring at me like that? What is he not telling me? _

_ The funny thing was, Sam was thinking the same thing._

_Three years later_: Dean rushed into the building, Sam close behind. _This isn't right_, Sam thought. _It was way too easy to track this thing_. The brothers were good, but they weren't that good. Dean looked back for a quick second to make sure nothing was behind him and he caught the look of uneasiness that was plastered on Sam's face.

"Get it together Sammy. I need you sharp," Dean ordered. Sam tried to wipe the scared and concerned look off his face but it didn't work.

"Dean, we should go. This doesn't feel right. I don't think this is a rawhead. We need to do more research," Sam said. Dean rolled his eyes and focused on the job. Sammy always overreacted. He was just a negative soul. But could you really blame him? Jess, Dad, Mom, all dead. Dean was all he had left.

"Come on Sammy! We've researched all we could research. The freakin' librarian even told us that! You remember, the one that helped us with our 'school project'? It is what it is," Dean said as he looked around a corner. Sam sighed. Clink. Sam paused. Dean kept moving. Either he didn't hear it or he didn't think it was important. Sam watched as Dean turned the corner and then he started walking again as Dean moved out of his sight. Something moved just out of Sam's line of vision. He whirled around, his gun at the ready. A black cat yowled and ran down the hall. He sighed a shook his head. Dean was right, he needed to get it together. He turned around to follow Dean again. Suddenly, he was slammed into and flung against the wall. Everything around him went black as he heard Dean yell, "Sammy!" Dean's voice faded into nothingness, along with the excruciating pain the creature had inflicted on him.

Sam came to and watched through helpless, half closed eyelids as Dean fired at the creature still. It ran around the corner and disappeared. Dean didn't go after it. When it was obviously gone, Dean pulled trigger pointlessly again and again in anger and frustration at what it had done to his baby brother. Sam lifted his head slightly, or tried too. He couldn't lift it more than a centimeter or two off the ground.

"D-D…" Sam couldn't finish. He moaned silently in pain. Dean's sensitive ears picked up his voice and Dean turned and ran over to him, pulling out his cell phone and he slid down next to Sam. He dialed 911 and held a quick conversation that Sam didn't listen to. He couldn't listen. The physical pain was too much. Sam winced and opened his mouth in another silent groan. No, he couldn't die. He couldn't leave Dean. The memories came flooding back in about why he couldn't leave. Happy memories with him and Dean. Memories about how Dean was when Dad died and with those memories came ideas about how Dean would deal with Sam's death. It wasn't very pretty. More and more memories came back. Like in Dr. Ellicott's office. Dr. Ellicott…Where he had realized the truth about his brother. Another reason he couldn't leave Dean. Dean couldn't be alone. Memories kept flooding in. Sam concentrated on them while Dean yelled at the operator to hurry, that his brother was dying. Sam watched as Dean hung up the phone and cradled Sam head.

"It's going to be okay Sammy. Don't worry, you're going to be fine," Dean whispered over and over. A tiny sound escaped Sam's lips. It was pure pain. Dean winced at the sound. Sam masked physical pain just as well as Dean masked emotional pain. Dean whispered more encouraging things to Sam but his voice kept cracking. Sam tilted his head slightly so he could see Dean better. Sam knew better than to believe what Dean was telling him.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam said, gasping at the pain it caused. _It hurts him to talk. This isn't good_, Dean thought. He repositioned his hold on Sam's head to make it more comfortable for Sam.

"Shh, Sam. Be quiet. They're coming. You need to be quiet and everything will be okay," Dean said, trying to believe the words. Sam took a deep breath and winced at the pain but spoke again anyway.

"Dean, I'm sorry," Sam whispered, barely audible. But Dean heard him. Dean always heard him. Actually listening to him and doing what he said was a different story.

"Sam, it's not your fault. It's mine. It wasn't a rawhead. I should've listened to you. It's not your fault Sammy, it's all mine," Dean said. No, Dean, not about that, Sam thought as he prepared himself to speak again. He was fading and he had to get this out before he…It was weird, the feeling you have when you know you have only a few precious moments to live.

"No, not about—" Sam coughed violently. He coughed up blood. Dean tried to gently wipe it away from Sam's mouth. Dean's hands were covered in Sam's blood but he didn't notice. God, Sammy, not like this. You're supposed to die as in old man. You're supposed to outlive everyone. I can't bury you Sammy. I can't, Dean thought miserably as he wiped away some more of the blood as Sam started to cough again. It hurt to cough, worse than it hurt to talk. But Sam couldn't help it. He couldn't stop coughing. Sam almost blacked out from the pain but he forced himself to stay awake. He had a feeling that if he passed out, he wouldn't wake up. And Sam needed to let Dean know.

"Not- not about that," Sam said softly and weakly. Dean wanted to ask what about but he knew he shouldn't make his brother talk. He tried to quiet him.

"I know Sammy, I know. Shh, you need to hush," Dean said, more tenderly than he had ever spoken before. Softly he began to hum Metallica. It didn't calm him down any.

"No, you don't. Dean I'm sorry that I'm…" Sam drifted off as he heard faint sirens in the background. Dean heard them too. He let his hopes rise a little each second they got closer.

"Hear that Sammy? They're almost here. They can help you. They'll make you better," Dean said with a child-like innocence about him. Just like a child couldn't imagine his parents dead, Dean couldn't imagine Sam dead. Then again, he couldn't imagine John dead either. Sam wanted to mentally kick himself but he was afraid it would actually hurt. He felt so weak right now and in so much pain. But he welcomed the pain. It let him know that he was alive. He tried to start talking again but the coughing started again.

"God, Sammy. What was that thing? What did it do to you? I'll hunt that thing down and kill it with my bare hands," Dean told Sam as he wiped more of Sam's blood away. It didn't help. Dean's hand was covered in blood so it made it worse. Dean ripped his shirt sleeve off and used that to wipe the blood away.

"Sorry that…that I'm lea…leaving you," Sam finally got out. He felt awful. He knew how much Dean needed him and he still couldn't fight off death, not even for his brother. Dean glared at Sam. He grabbed Sam's hand and squeezed slightly.

"Samuel Winchester, you are not leaving. Not now! Not before me! I go first! Remember? You were five and I told you… Never mind. All that matters is that you are not leaving. If you weren't in so much pain right now I'd punch you for saying that! I go first Sammy!" Dean shouted at Sam. A stray tear fell on Sam's forehead. Dean thumbed it away and looked up to see whose it was. No one was there. _Mine?_ Dean rubbed his eyes and found them wet. He rubbed them dry. Then he realized that his hands still had Sam's blood all over them. The sirens grew louder and Dean heard pounding foot steps on the cold ground. It is cold in here. Dean carefully removed his precious leather jacket, trying to disturb Sammy whose head was still on Dean's lap. But the slightest movement hurt Sam. He tried to mask it but tiny whimpers and gasps escaped. Finally Dean got his jacket off and laid it over Sammy. But it was a pointless effort. The paramedic reached them just as Dean smoothed it over Sam's body.

"Dean…" Sam whispered. Dean looked down and saw Sam's dark eyes begging for help. The paramedics tried to lift Sam up onto the stretcher but Sam cried out every time they touched him.

"All right, this is just going to have to hurt. There isn't anyway to move him comfortably," one of the paramedics said. Dean wanted to help but they had banished him to a corner. He kept repeating encouraging words loud enough for Sammy to hear. He began to pray, like he had for Layla. Harder than he had for Layla.

"Sam, listen to me. Concentrate on me. Ignore the pain. Concentrate on me Sammy. Listen to me. I know it hurts but you got to do it. You can't…You can't leave me Sam. You just can't. Who's going to pull me out of trouble? Whose going to be my geek boy? Listen to me Sammy. Ignore the pain," Dean whispered across the room, soft enough where the paramedics couldn't hear him. But somehow, he knew that Sammy heard him. The paramedic lifted Sam up and he cried out in pain but Sam didn't resist. Dean bit his lip to keep from crying out himself. As the paramedics lifted the stretcher up Sam closed his eyes. Dean rushed over and grabbed Sam's hand, keeping a hold on him just as he had when they were little and John had gone out on a hunting trip.

_"You watch out for Sammy, okay Dean? Don't let him out of your sight," John warned. He didn't need to. Dean had learned his lesson with the shtriga. Sammy was never more than an arms length away. John walked out the door. Dean collapsed in a chair beside Sammy and watched Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles for an hour. Dean loved Mikey and Raph but he was getting restless. But he wouldn't leave Sam. So they had stayed in front of the TV for another hour, this time watching Power Rangers. Finally Sammy had had enough and turned off the television. He turned to Dean and put on his puppy dog look._

_"What do you want?" Dean asked, knowing full well what that look meant. Sammy knew those eyes could get him almost anything from Dean._

_"Can I go get a soda? Please, please, please?" Sammy begged. Dean rolled his eyes. He shouldn't, but Dean gave in. Sammy jumped up and ran out the door. Dean yelled his name and Sammy came trudging back inside with an annoyed look on his face._

_"Sammy, you wait for me. I can't let anything happen, not on my watch. Dad would kill me," Dean finished with a joke, hiding his real concern. He grabbed a crumpled dollar bill from his Raphael wallet and grabbed the room key. He hesitated and then reached for a less crumpled bill that the machine might actually take. He checked his pocket for the key and walked out the door, Sammy close behind, bouncing with every step. It was a rare treat for them to get a soda. When John was around, all they drank was milk or water. Usually, John ordered them not to drink the fizzy goodness while he was gone, but not this time. So Dean decided to treat Sammy and maybe grab a swig or two for himself from Sammy's bottle. _

_Dean let Sammy catch up so he was beside him, not behind him where something could grab him and Dean not even know it. He clasped his hand around the base of Sammy's little neck and held on, much to Sammy's disapproval._

_"Dean, let me go! I'm not a little kid!" Sammy protested, squirming under Dean's firm grasp. Dean laughed._

_"Yes you are, Sammy. You're a little shrimp. You'll never be bigger or tougher than me," Dean stated. Sammy had glared at him all the way to the dilapidated drink machine. As Sammy reached up to feed the dollar bill he spoke softly, but defiantly._

_"It's not Sammy anymore. It's Sam."_

Dean smiled at the memory. The first time Sam had every insisted on being called Sam. He grinned slightly at what he told the 'little shrimp.' Sam was definitely bigger but Dean was still tougher. He looked back down at Sam, lying there, helpless as two men half ran out of the building to get him to the ambulance. The smile disappeared from his face and he felt awful for being even remotely happy. He wished that Sammy could have some of his toughness right now. Sam needed it more than Dean did. But it couldn't happen so Dean just had to be tough for Sam. He swung himself into the shotgun seat of the ambulance and it started to pull away from the abandoned building. Dean watched as it disappeared from sight. It was still in there. The thing that hurt Sammy. It wouldn't be there for long. Dean mentally ran over a checklist in his head about what it could be. Nothing came up. He had no clue. Maybe Bobby would know. He wished Caleb was still alive. Caleb knew almost as much about the paranormal world as John had. Caleb could've helped Dean a dozen times before this too.

When they finally reached that hospital, Dean watched as they took his not so little brother through swinging doors. Those swinging doors separated Dean and Sam and Dean wanted to knock them down with one hard kick. But he knew it wouldn't do any good. Besides, you can't knock swinging doors down, they just swing back at you and hit you in the face. Dean felt like life was hitting him in the face. If he had only listened to Sammy, none of this would've happened…

* * *

A/N: Sorry if it was on the long side, I really couldn't find a good place to leave off. The next chapter will hopefully be up soon. So you guys know the drill by now, leave me a review and poof the chapter goes up! 


	3. Little Girls and Little Brothers

A/N: Sorry that took so long! I've got the flu so it took me longer than expected. Hope you guys like this chapter!!

Disclaimer: Still not mine even though I watched them the whole time while I'm sick.

* * *

As Dean sat waiting for any word about his brother he realized that he had been quite cooperative. He fidgeted and tried to flip through an old magazine for the fiftieth time. He plopped it back down on the table and drummed on his knees. He started humming "Fire of Unknown Origin" but when he got to the part about taking my baby away, he decided to switch songs. He tried his old, faithful song, 'Some Kind of Monster" but that didn't work, considering the fact that Dean didn't know what kind of monster it was that hurt Sam. No song helped. He grabbed the TV remote and started flipping channels. He watched about fifteen seconds of a soap opera but he flipped when he say a young guy laying in a coma. He watched a couple minutes of the news and jotted down some possible future hunts. He flipped again and came to Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

"Are you kidding me? They made new ones? This sucks! Why can't they leave the good things in this world alone," Dean said to himself, somewhere in the back of his mind wishing that whatever that _thing_ was it had left Sammy alone. A little girl in the corner of the waiting room laughed. Dean hadn't realized that he had been talking so loud and grinned apologetically. The girl was about seven and grinned back at him.

"I know what you mean. The originals were way better," she said. Dean looked at her. A little kid that wasn't hung up in the present? All right, so she wasn't so little but she sure wasn't as old as he was.

"You've seen the originals? The first ones? Not any other remakes they may have made?" Dean asked her. She gave him an annoyed look, just like the look Sammy had given him when they went to get the soda so many years ago.

"Yes, the originals. You know, not all kids are into Disney channel these days," she said, making Dean laugh. He quickly stopped when he thought back to Sam though. If Sam couldn't laugh, then Dean wouldn't laugh. Not even at a sarcastic little girl.

"All right then. I believe you," Dean said but in a different tone then he originally had. The little girl looked at him, concerned.

"What's wrong?" she asked. "Why are you here?" Dean looked at her and she held his gaze for a moment.

"I might ask you the same question," he retorted. She glanced down quickly, a fleeting expression of sadness across her face. But she soon bounced back into her happy demeanor.

"I asked first. Are you sick? You don't look sick. You just look sad," she added. _Smart little chick_, Dean thought.

"Nah, I'm not sick. Too tough to get sick. My brother's sick," Dean said with a look that said "Don't ask." "Now, you answer. Why are you here?"

"My brother's sick too. He has leu- leukemia, I think. But the doctors are going to make him all better Mommy said. But I don't think Daddy thinks so. He walks around all the time and he doesn't look happy," she explained. Dean's face fell. Poor little girl, going through the same hell he was. But her brother didn't sound like he was going to get better. But he saw stranger things every day. "Are the doctors going to make your brother better too?" Dean swallowed and fought back tears.

"Yeah, yeah they are. Or they better or I'm gonna kick their…" Dean didn't finish, remembering who he was talking to innocent ears. She nodded at him to finish but he didn't.

"Going to kick their butt? Is that it?" she asked. Dean nodded. And he probably would. He was known for kicking…butt.

"How old is your brother?" Dean asked. She thought for a moment, counting on her fingers.

"He's three. He's still a little shrimp. But when the doctors make him better, he'll grow up to be bigger than me!" she exclaimed. Dean was struck with a feeling of déjà vu. "How old is your brother?" the little girl asked, oblivious to the sad expression that crossed Dean's face.

"He's twenty-six. And he used to be a shrimp, too, just like your brother. But now he's over six feet, taller than me. And I'm the older brother," Dean said. The little girl's eyes grew big.

"Over six feet? How tall is six feet?" she asked. Dean stood up and put his hand at about his nose area.

"I'm a little over six feet, so about here, I guess." Dean shrugged and sat back down. The little girl grinned. Dean gave her a small grin back. Usually he hated kids but this one wasn't as dumb as other kids he had met. She went in the list with Lucas and Michael.

"What's your name?" the little girl asked after a moment of silence. Dean wondered if he should give her a fake name. No, not to a little girl. Who was she going to tell anyway?

"My name is Dean, Dean Winchester. What's yours?" he asked. At that moment a short, plump lady came through the swinging doors. She looked frantically around the room until her gaze came to rest on the little girl. She sighed in relief.

"Why did you leave like that? You scared me!" the lady told the little girl. The little girl ducked her head shamefully.

"Sorry, Mommy. It got too cramped in Sammy's room," she said. Dean's ears perked up. He stared at the little girl who looked back at him with a confused glance.

"Wait, wait, wait. Your little brother's name is Sammy?" Dean asked. The little girl nodded and her mom pulled her closer, obviously trying to keep her safe from this man who knew about her children.

"Yeah, Sam Rivers," the little girl asked right before her mom shushed her into silence. She glared at her mom, as if she was ruining her chances of being best friends with Dean.

"Look, sir, I'm sorry if she bothered you, but we've really got to go now," the mother said. Dean stood up and held up his hand to stop them.

"Wait. My brother's name is Sammy, too. But he hates to be called Sammy," Dean told the little girl. She giggled.

"Do you call him Sammy anyway?" she asked. Dean gave her his infamous half grin.

"Of course. So when your brother gets older, you keep calling him Sammy too. It really gets my brother worked up. It's pretty funny to watch. Maybe you can come a visit him when he's getting better," Dean said, ignoring the mother's impatient foot tapping. The little girl smiled and nodded.

"And you can visit my little brother too!" she exclaimed. The mother smiled insincerely at Dean and gently pulled the little girl through the swinging doors. Dean sat back down in the chair. The escape was good while it had lasted but now he had to face his problems once again. He had a bit more hope for some reason. He allowed himself a little smile to stay permanently on his face.

An hour later, a grim faced doctor walked through the swinging doors and looked around the room.

"John Young? Mr. Young?" the doctor called. Dean jumped up and walked over to the doctor expectantly, his small smile still in place. He saw the grim look and the smile faded slightly.

"Where's my brother? Where's S- Robert?" Dean asked, almost slipping up and saying Sam's real name. Dean's frantic eyes searched the doctor's for any sign. He found none.

"I'm sorry, sir—"

"No! No! Where is my brother?! Let me see my brother! You're lying! Where is my little brother?!" Dean shouted. The doctor tried to calm him down but it was a futile attempt. Sam couldn't be gone. No, not Sam, not little Sammy. Not his Sam. Dean tried to move around the doctor but he wouldn't let Dean pass through those swinging doors. So Dean improvised. He shoved the doctor through the doors and the doctor fell to the ground. Dean ran through halls yelling his brother's name.

"Sam! Sammy! Where are you Sam? Talk to me man! Answer me when I call you! Sammy!" Dean cried, still not believing it. He looked through each window. He saw other brothers, sons, husbands. But not his brother. Dean became more and more frantic. Finally he reached the end of the hall and he bust open the door. It was the last door, Sam had to be in here. But no Sam.

"Dean? What's wrong?" Dean vaguely heard the little girl from the waiting room asked but he didn't answer. _I must've missed a room_, Dean thought.

"Sammy, this isn't funny! Come on man! Where are you? Sammy! You can't…You can't do this to me Sammy…" Dean ended in a whisper. He collapsed against the wall of the hospital and cried out in anguish. He felt a small hand on his shoulder and then felt soft, short hair against his face. He opened his eyes and wiped them on his shirt. The little girl was there again. She didn't understand what was going on but she knew how to comfort.

"It'll be okay Dean. Your brother'll get better. Just tell the doctors that you're going to kick their butts if they don't fix him," she said innocently. Dean slumped even farther on the floor in a fresh batch of tears. She hugged Dean gently and he let her. It was more than he ever had done to Sammy. God, if he could only change the past. There was so much he would change. He never would've taken that voodoo job in New Orleans. That was where it had all started. If he hadn't let John go to Jericho by himself, John might still be here and Sam might be alive.

"Sammy…Why, Sammy, why? Sam…" Dean gasped through heavy tears. He released the little girl from his arm but still grasped her seemingly tiny hand in his own. He stood up and the little girl stood up with him. She looked at him, concern written all over her face. She had finally realized what had happened. Then, she too began to cry, silently.

"Don't worry Dean. You can be my big brother. I've always wanted a big brother," she said. Dean placed his hand on her head and leaned against the wall, gasping sobs escaping his mouth. He looked up and down the halls, still expecting to see Sam poke his head out from one of the rooms with a video camera and laugh at him.

_"Ha ha! That was great Dean! You really fell for it, didn't you? Come on man! Would I really let you go into a haunted building without knowing for sure what was in there?" Sam would smirk and run laughing down the hall as Dean chased him, threatening to kill him, the little girl laughing, in on the whole sick joke._

But it didn't happen. All Dean saw coming down the hall was the doctor. He groaned and let go of the little girl's hand. She stuck to his side though, refusing to leave.

"Mr. Young? Can I talk to you now?" the doctor asked. The little girl looked up at Dean, confused at why the doctor was calling Mr. Young. But she didn't say anything. _Smart kid_, Dean thought and silently thanked her for not blowing his cover.

"Whatever," Dean said miserably and quietly so that the doctor had to strain to hear. He put his hand on Dean's shoulder but he shrugged it off roughly. Dean looked up at the doctor with disgust on his face. He moved past the doctor and clipped shoulders with him. The little girl followed Dean and tried to clip shoulders too but wasn't tall enough, so she glared at him.

"He's gonna kick your butt, you know. He told me so," the little girl said. She reminded him of how Sammy was at that age. Always backing Dean up, whether he wanted him too or not. At any other time, Dean would've laughed but with Sammy gone, the world didn't seem funny or kind. The world seemed full of evil, hate, and unjust. Sam shouldn't have died. Sam knew it wasn't a rawhead. Dean should've been the one laying in that hospital bed with the sheet over his body, dead, not Sam. He vaguely heard the doctor say something about what to do for his funeral but Dean didn't stop walking. Dean walked through the swing doors again and the little girl tried to follow him but he stopped her.

"Not right now, okay?" he told her gently. She stopped following him and watched him as he walked out of the hospital and sat down on a bench.

He pulled out his cell phone and called Bobby. It rang three times.

"Yeah? What do yah want? I'm busy," Bobby answered. Normally Dean would've made fun of the way Bobby answered his cell phone, but not today. Maybe not ever.

"Bobby? It's Dean," he said weakly. God, he sounded so vulnerable. He hated it.

"Dean? You sound like crap. What's the matter? You sick or something?" Bobby asked unknowingly. Dean sighed. _I wish_, he thought.

"No. I just need a ride," he said. Bobby was close by. Bobby was reliable. Bobby wouldn't leave him alone like Sam had. Like Sam had those many times. Those times were bad enough but this time, this time Sam wasn't coming back.

"Yeah, sure Dean. Where are yah?" Bobby asked. Dean sighed again.

"At the hospital, Franklin Hospital," he replied, still sounding weaker than he would've liked.

"You okay Dean? Sam okay?" Bobby asked. Dean had to pause for a moment before he answered. He couldn't let Bobby hear him cry.

"No, no he's not," Dean said, voice cracking. Dean heard Bobby sigh.

"God…Dean, what happened?" Bobby asked. Dean shook his head and then remembered he was on the phone.

"I don't know Bobby. I'll try to explain when you get here. I just need a ride to the Impala." Dean hung up the phone. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the envelope he hadn't realized was there. He fingered it, wondering if he should open it. He wanted to but he wasn't in the mood to do much of anything. He would open it later, once he found a hotel room.

He waited for about thirty minutes for Bobby to get there. Finally, he saw an old rusty car swerving into the hospital, getting a lot of honks because of it. Dean closed his eyes and shook his head when he saw Bobby giving them the finger. Bobby screeched to a stop in front of him and opened the passenger door.

"Hop in, Dean," Bobby said unnecessarily. Dean pulled himself in the car reluctantly. Dean sat in silence for the first ten minutes or so of the ride.

"Thanks, Bobby. You know, for picking me up," Dean said softly. Bobby grunted, his way of saying "You're welcome."

"Dean, what was it?" Bobby asked a few minutes later. Dean shrugged.

"Not a rawhead, that's for sure. Not a shape shifter or a black dog. A pagan god? Naw, what kind of pagan god could be found in a freakin' warehouse?" Dean rambled, partly to Bobby, partly just to hear something besides the silence.

"Come back to the shop with me. You can crash there and look through my books. Don't worry, we'll figure out whatever it is," Bobby reassured. The two men were silent the rest of the ride, the silence only breaking when Dean had to tell Bobby when to turn.

When they finally got to the Impala, Dean was glad. No more awkward silence. What was it Sam had told him once? Whenever there was an awkward silence someone was thinking about George Washington? Dean had brushed him off, ignoring him. He wished he hadn't now. He should've listened to every single thing Sam had ever said. Dean reached into his pocket to get the keys and felt the envelope again. _I'll open it later, back at Bobby's, after I figure out what that thing is_, he thought.

He stared warily at the crumbling building that Sam had been so fatally hurt in. Dean shook his head to try to clear the painful memory from his mind but it didn't work. He sat down in the Impala and started the engine. He pulled away from the place where his most awful memory was made and followed Bobby to his home away from home. Who was he kidding? Dean hadn't had a home in what? More than twenty years? He had lost count, but he did know one thing. He hadn't had a home since Mom died. But he had always thought of his family as his home. Now his family was dead. And family wasn't something you could replace. Homes, clothes, even his '67 Impala he could replace, but not family. So Dean held on tight to everything he had left, which was Bobby and the Impala.

Maybe he could even go to the Roadhouse and patch things up with Ellen and Jo. Surely Ellen didn't blame _him_ for her husband's death. He wasn't like his dad in that way, he wouldn't put someone in immediate danger purposely. Or would he? He had put Michael in danger with the shtriga. He had put Sam in danger countless times. And he did blame himself for putting Jo in harm's way on the H.H. Holmes job. Ellen had every right to be mad at him. He just wished that Ellen could forgive him for his mistakes…and his dad's.

Dean sighed and rubbed his face to wake himself up and focus on the road ahead of him. He turned up the volume, not really caring what music came out. It was, of course, Metallica. Ironically, _The Unforgiven_. Dean quickly ejected the tape and popped in AC/DC and trusty Angus Young and Brian Johnson drowned out his mind with their heavy chords and vocals Dean had come to, not so much love, but need. He needed to get his mind off things, constantly, before this…this _thing_ had ever happened.

* * *

A/N: Okay guys, hope you enjoyed that! Tell me if I'm doing something wrong with anything, if there's some aspect of the story you don't like or if I'm just writing a terrible plot. Oh and of course, tell me if you like it! So in short, please review!!


	4. He Just Didn't Fight

A/N: I'm so sorry about the wait! I have no excuse except writers block! And as some will be happy to see, back by popular demand (sitonkia!!) the little girl!! i was glad to see you guys liked her! I had fun writing about her! Especially during this chapter...

* * *

A week later, Dean, down another few pounds, was still researching what exactly attacked his brother. He had pored over all of Bobby's books for hours at a time. When he felt like he couldn't read anymore, he would work on cars with Bobby, gaining back a little of the muscle he had lost while grieving for Sammy. Occasionally, he would think about the little girl he had met in the hospital. He wondered how her brother was doing. He should've punched her father for putting the idea in her head that her Sammy would die. Then again, he himself hadn't helped that at all. He had run around the hospital yelling for Sam. He had probably scared the crap out of her. But, then again, death was just a scary fact of life. God, what an oxymoron, Dean pictured Sam telling him. But if Sam was here, he probably wouldn't be thinking that.

Dean massaged his scalp and grabbed another thick, old, dusty book from Bobby's book shelf. He skimmed through it, looking for the thing that killed his brother. It couldn't be the Demon, could it? The Demon wouldn't kill Sammy, it had said that it had plans for him. Those plans couldn't include killing him. Then again, if the Demon's plans were that important, it wouldn't have let Sam die, would it? Dean was so confused.

"I must be over thinking this," he muttered to himself as Bobby came in the door, sweaty from a long day of working on cars. Bobby grabbed the book that Dean was reading and read the cover. He shook his head, threw the book over his shoulder, and walked over to the bookshelf, skimming through the titles for a second before grabbing a particularly old and dusty book and handed it to Dean.

"Every hunter that has ever walked through here overlooks this book until I show it to them. It's in Latin but Latin is like your second language. This book has almost every evil creature known to man. Tomorrow you should look through this. Tonight, we have a drink," Bobby said, eager to distract Dean from his miserable research. Dean sighed and put the book down across the table. He had given in. Bobby grinned.

"Just go take a shower first, okay?" Dean told Bobby. Bobby laughed and headed down the hall to the bathroom. Dean craned his neck to watch Bobby until he went out of view. Dean scooted his chair closer to the Latin book that supposedly held all the answers. He jumped when he heard Bobby stomp back down the hall. Quickly Dean jumped up and away from the book. Bobby gave him a look and grabbed the Latin book and took it with him into the bathroom. Dean sighed in defeat. He would never find Sam's killer if the goings went like this.

Killer. Dean thought about it as if it were a person. No human could kill like that. It was impossible. Then again, what was impossible? What he saw everyday and he doubted something. Then again, he had doubted there was good out there and he was right about Roy LeGrange. That reaper…A reaper! Could he summon a reaper? _No!_ Dean shouted at himself. The dead stay dead no matter how much the living want them to come back.

That night Dean had a couple of beers. Really drowning his sorrows like he had heard of so many people do before. An old Tammy Wynette song droned on the jukebox. Dean tried to ignore it but he couldn't. He couldn't stand country music. Finally he slammed his beer down on the counter, making Bobby jump at the loud sound that was heard over the noisy bar. He stomped over to the smoky corner of the bar, behind the pool tables where the jukebox lied. He brought a quarter and thrust it through the coin slot and flipped through the song list until he found one he could listen to. It was Metallica, of course. But they only had one song by them, My Friend of Misery. As it started blaring through the speakers, Dean started to wish he hadn't played it. The lyrics struck way too close to home.

Dean jammed his hands in his leather jacket that had once covered the dying Sammy. Tonight he would have another beer and maybe play a game of pool. He wouldn't hustle, not tonight. He didn't know how good he actually was without Sam waiting to back him up if his opponents weren't in a good mood, which they rarely were. Plus, he didn't think Bobby could back him up as well as Sam could. So he sat down at the bar and ordered another beer.

"Dean, you had enough drinks there?" Bobby asked carefully. Dean sighed and looked at the empty bottles sitting there. They reminded him of his life. Empty. Not a drop left. Ever since Sam left him. No! Sam wouldn't leave him, would he? He hadn't wanted to be killed by whatever it was. Sam had wanted to stay with him, right?

As Bobby drove back to his place, Dean sat in the passenger seat with his head leaning against the cool glass of the window. Ever since Sammy had died, he had been thinking a lot about life and whether he felt the need to live or not. Dean wasn't happy. But like Roy LeGrange had said, he had unfinished business on earth. To kill Sam's killer. Then that had gotten Dean thinking about whether he was any better than the evil that killed. He had brushed that thought aside, knowing that he and Sam had killed to protect, not just to hurt. And there were also those select times that they didn't kill. Dean's mind wandered a bit more, this time to Lenore. He wondered where she was, what she was doing, and if any other hunters had tried to kill her.

Where were all these thoughts coming from? Random ones that made Dean feel like crap. Actually, worse than crap. Crap was how he felt on a regular basis since Sam died. Why did Sam have to go?

_No, not go. Sam died_, Dean thought. But that seemingly harmless thought spread like wildfire through his brain. God, Sam, you did leave me didn't you? You could've stayed if you tried. You were tough, almost as tough as me. If you had just fought a little harder, you might have stayed with me. Selfish, yes, but I need you! You stayed around long enough to rub it in my face that you knew my secret. If you knew my secret,, why didn't you fight to stick around so I would never have to be alone? If you had just fought a little harder Sammy Boy, just a little harder…

Dean fell asleep on that thought, his head slipping down the glass, making a slight squeaking noise, catching Bobby's attention. He smiled as he glanced over at the slumbering Dean. The poor kid hadn't gotten much sleep at all the past nights. Bobby pulled to a stop in his yard and pondered what to do with Dean. _Too heavy to lift and I don't want to wake him up_, Bobby thought. _I could always let him sleep in the car, it's not like he hasn't done it a hundred times before. Naw, I can't do that. I'll have to wake him up._

"Dean, wake up. Get into bed," Bobby said gruffly, his way of showing affection.. Dean opened his mouth to argue about how he wanted to look through the Latin book but Bobby cut him off knowingly. "Dean, you can't look at it tonight. You wouldn't be able to read any of it," Bobby reasoned.

"No, I gotta find what killed him," Dean slurred, half with sleepiness. Bobby rolled his eyes and helped Dean get out of the car.

""Come on Dean. Go to sleep in your bed," Bobby told him.

"What did I do wrong on the hunt? Why did he have to go?" Dean whispered clumsily. Bobby pulled Dean through the front door and walked him down the hall.

"Nothing, Dean. You didn't have anything to do with Sam dying," Bobby tried to console. Dean pushed Bobby off weakly and shook his head.

"No, he just didn't fight."

* * *

The next day, Bobby awoke to the sound of a slamming trunk. Dean was packing up the Impala.

"Where you headed Dean?" Bobby asked when he got outside, still in an old T-shirt and sweatpants. Dean was fully dressed and awake.

"I've got some unfinished business," Dean replied. Bobby had known John Winchester long enough to know not to argue with any Winchester boy. Dean was just as stubborn as his father. Sam had been too.

Bobby watched as Dean sped off in the shiny black car. That car was all the kid had left now. Bobby stood in the front yard and listened to the rumbling of the engine until it faded from earshot.

Dean drove on in silence. No music for this road trip. Dean had to get away from _there_. What Dean didn't realize, was that _there_ was his thoughts about Sam. But before Dean could flee from his problems, he needed to make one quick stop.

Dean sat in his car, taking comfort in the familiarity of it. The cold, white, unfriendly building sat in front of him, taunting him it seemed. The place where he left Sam.

Dean opened the door and got out of the car. He forced himself to put one foot in front of the other, one step at a time until he found what he was looking for. He paced in the waiting room for a second and jumped every time the doors swung open. Stupid swinging doors. If they had let him in in time, Sam might be alive. Finally, just as he was building up the courage to go ask the front desk, the door opened again. This time it was the right person that came into the room.

"Dean!" He turned around and suddenly felt little arms encircle his waist. He smiled and patted the little girl's back awkwardly.

"Hey, I was just coming back to say good-bye," Dean admitted. Why was it easier to say things like that to a little girl who he barely knew, but it was so hard to say things to Sam?

"You're leaving? But what about kicking the doctor's butts?" she asked. "You told me you would!" Dean let out another small smile at that memory.

"Well, if I kicked the doctors' butts, then they wouldn't be able to help your little brother," Dean told her, making her smile even broader. "How is Sammy?" Dean asked, his words catching at the familiar name that he would never be able to say offhandedly again.

"He's going to get better, don't worry!" she exclaimed. Dean smiled at the little girl.

"Good, that's really good," Dean said truthfully. He didn't want this little girl to go through the same hell he had been through. Then the little girl's face brightened. Dean could almost see a light bulb clicking on over he head.

"I've got a great idea! You come see him! Please, please, please!" she begged. _So much like Sam_, Dean thought. He allowed her to drag him through the hallway, through the swinging doors, down to her brother's room. She threw open the door to reveal a woman he recognized as her mother, a doctor, a man he didn't know, and a small child resting on a small bed. Memories from the Shtriga came flooding back and Dean's face paled for a moment as he looked at the doctor. Then he shook his head. _Not every doctor is a life force sucking witch_, he told himself.

He nodded a greeting towards the mother. She stared at him for a minute, then moved closer to her husband. The doctor gave Dean a distrusting side long glance but did nothing to stop him from coming in. The other man, however, stood up menacingly.

"Get the hell out of my son's room! Who are you? What are you doing here?" _Got to be the father_, Dean told himself.

"Hey, easy dude. She brought me in here. I asked about Sammy and she took me here," Dean said, blinking back tears at the name.

"She? You mean my wife? Do you know him?" the father asked.

"I saw him once I think. He was sitting in the waiting room, muttering to himself. Then he smiled at me and kept staring at a chair next to me. Make him leave Doctor, please," the mother said.

"Wait what? Talking to myself? I was talking to your little daughter!" Dean exclaimed, waking the little child on the bed.

"We don't have a little daughter! We only have Jonathon and Shelby who's 17!" the mother told him.

"But the little girl, she's right behind me!" Dean whirled around to find an empty doorway. "But…But she was just there."

"No one was here but you. You burst in here like you owned the place," the doctor informed him. "Now sir, you've got to leave before I call security."

Dean walked out of the somewhat cramped room, still wondering what just happened. He thought back to that day and did remember that there was an older girl that followed the little girl and mother through the swinging doors. That must have been their real daughter, Shelby. But that still didn't explain the little girl and her Sammy.

Dean walked up the steps to the library but paused before he opened the door. Geek Boy wasn't here to do the research for him. Now Dean felt bad for those nicknames he used to call Sam. But now it was too late to change anything.

He walked into the library and asked the lady behind the front desk for any newspapers about the hospital. She brought out a paper with a picture of what was left of a hospital.

"It burned down?" Dean asked. The librarian nodded and left him to read the article. According to the article, the hospital had burned down 19 years ago.

"Everybody died," Dean read aloud to himself. He looked closely at the picture of the burned down hospital. Nothing out of the ordinary. He continued reading the article.

_Officials say that all persons involved in the hospital died in the fire. According to Mrs. Gilda Aires, 69, she was walking down the sidewalk when she saw the smoke. She also says that she witnessed a small child run into the building. "She looked so carefree. She must not have seen the smoke. Poor dear, she couldn't have been more than eight. I yelled for her to stop but she didn't hear me. I swear I heard her singing the name Sammy as she dashed inside." Officials also say that some of the bodies cannot be recovered._

Dean stepped away from the newspaper and walked out into the parking lot where he rested on the hood of his Impala. _So she was a spirit? But she certainly wasn't angry. Maybe she was just trying to protect her brother? Spirits can stick around if they feel like they have unfinished business. But every spirit I've run into has been malicious and murderous._ _But what do I do? Do I find her body? Or was her body never recovered?_ Dean thought to himself. _She seemed happy. I know how the spirit feels, taking care of her brother, staying around to try to protect him from any further danger. Maybe his body was never recovered either and she's staying around to protect his body. Her brother's room must have been the same room as that other family. Why ruin the little girl's mission? She obviously wants to be here, taking care of her brother. That's what I'd do for Sammy._ Dean cast one long look at the hospital and thought that he heard two small children laughing together, but it was just his imagination, right? He got into his car and drove off.

Dean turned up his music, but didn't really hear it, not like he used to. He sped past a small road sign that read Rockford, 2 miles. Dean made a quick turn, following the signs that led him to the small town. He drove past a chained up asylum that had caused him so much grief for so long after. Was he even over that? Then he drove a little further and saw a cleaner, friendlier building. Dr. Ellicott's office. Sam had gone there once, who knows what he talked about.

Impulsively, Dean pulled into the parking lot and got out of the car. He walked up to the building and walked into the waiting room. He was greeted with a warm, somewhat concerned, smile from the receptionist.

"Can I help you, sir?" the receptionist, Donna if her name tag was right. Dean flashed her a grin that made her blush.

"Actually, I don't have an appointment or anything like that," Dean admitted, still not quite sure what possessed him to come here. Donna nodded and hit a few buttons on her keyboard.

"In fifteen minutes Dr. Ellicott has an opening," she informed him. He nodded and gave her a fake name.

"John Bonham," Dean told her, not taking the usual pleasure in using his extensive knowledge of classic rock in everyday life. Donna took his name down and nodded towards the couch that stood beside a table stacked with old magazines.

Dean sat on the couch, the same couch Sam had sat on. He picked up a magazine and flipped through it but didn't comprehend anything on the glossy pages. He didn't even realize what magazine he was reading. Men's Health. A little over fifteen minutes later, Dr. Ellicott stuck his head out of the room and called in a John Bonham. Dean stood up and walked into the office, passing an upset looking woman storming out.

"Hey Doc. I'm John," Dean said. Ellicott motioned to the empty chair on one side of his desk. Dean sat in it and shifted uncomfortably.

"Hello, John. What can I do for you?" Ellicott asked. Dean smiled nervously.

"Well, actually, I'm not even sure why I came here," Dean admitted.

"Really?" Ellicott asked. "Because it seems to me that you know exactly why you're here." Dean shot him a glare that betrayed his thoughts.

"I have a question for you, if that's okay," Dean said, with a hint of sarcasm. Ellicott nodded, not exactly pleased with the way Dean was acting, but it was his job to put up with people like that.

"Do you remember your patients after they stop coming?" Dean asked, still with a hint of sarcasm that seemed to follow the pain he felt.

"I like to think that I remember most of the people that walk through that door," Dr. Ellicott told Dean. Dean laughed disbelievingly.

"Really? That's interesting. I'll bet you can't remember one certain guy," Dean retorted.

"All sessions are confidential," Dr. Ellicott informed Dean.

"You just don't remember him," Dean whispered. Dr. Ellicott heard him and latched on this comment.

"Him? Which him?" he asked. Dean gave him another glare.

"Can't tell you. Confidential, remember?" Dean said angrily.

"Maybe I can make an exception, but only if you tell me who this guy is and how you feel about him, why it makes you angry and sad to talk about him. That's why you came isn't it? Because of him?" Ellicott asked, hitting the nail square on the head. Dean was a little surprised, what happened to all of the self help yoga crap? From Dean's look, Ellicott knew he was right.

"You'll tell me what you two talked about? If I tell you who he is?" Dean asked, not trusting him. How could he? Everybody ended up leaving him or lying to him or betraying him, why should Ellicott be any different?

"Depends on the person. Family member?" Ellicott asked. Dean hesitated. Would it blow his fake name? Did it matter? If he went to jail it would be just as much hell as it was free. He was alone in the world no matter where he was.

"Yeah, family. Brother," Dean managed to get out.

"What's your brother name?" Dr. Ellicott asked. He knew he was treading on thin ice. He could tell the man was a complex person, more so than others. He had to be careful so not as to scare him away.

"Sam…Sam Winchester," Dean told him, wishing if he knew if that was the right decision.

"Sam? I remember him. He asked me all about the riot over at the old asylum," Ellicott told him, also remembering how Sam had talked so much about his brother. Ellicott had gotten the impression that Sam was more than a little angry at his brother.

"Yeah, yeah I was with him that day. He told me he asked about it. You know, I'm kind of a local history buff," Dean lied. Ellicott stifled a small laugh.

"That's exactly what Sam told me. So your both local history buffs but neither of you could remember about the riot?" Ellicott asked. Dean smiled a little and shook his head. Ellicott let the subject drop, they had more important things to get to.

"How is Sam anyway?" Dr. Ellicott asked cautiously. Dean clenched his jaw for almost a full minute as he fought tears from welling in his clear hazel eyes.

"Ah, I see. I'm so sorry. How are you holding up?" Dr. Ellicott asked. Dean glanced up at the psychologist and say true sorrow in his eyes. Did he really care about his past patients that much? Sam had only gone to him once. Must have made a lasting impression. Sam had that effect on people. It must be those puppy dog eyes.

"How do you think I'm holding up?" Dean snapped. Ellicott held up his hands in surrender.

"Easy there, just a question. How about your father? Sam told me you two got a long really well. Are you two helping each other cope?" Ellicott asked. A look of pure hurt and pain passed over Dean's face, lingering for a minute.

"My Dad's dead," he rasped, voice thick and soft with pain. It had been a long time but the pain was still fresh. Ellicott dropped his pen in surprise.

"When?" Ellicott asked.

"A little over a year ago," Dean told him.

"When it rains it pours, right?" Ellicott asked. Dean nodded. He believed that statement, however cliché, wholeheartedly.

"It's my fault," Dean muttered under his breath.

"And how does that make you feel?" Ellicott asked. Dean suddenly snapped. He laughed and stood up. He started pacing around the room.

"How does that make me feel? My brother is dead! The last of my family is gone! I had the chance to save them and I failed! And you ask how it makes me feel?" Dean shouted at him. Dean walked up to Ellicott and punched him in the face. Ellicott fell back in his chair, dazed for a minute. Ellicott groaned and held his bloodied nose. Dean sat back down in the chair but then jumped back up.

"And how does that make me feel?" Dean mocked hatefully. As Dean stood over Ellicott's desk he spoke again as he looked down at what he had done to Ellicott. "A helluva lot better, actually." And with that, Dean left the office, never to return.

"Glad I could help," Dr. Ellicott whispered to Dean's disappearing back.

Dean Winchester never really hunted again. He tried going back to the warehouse where Sam was killed but he never saw or heard anything that told him that something supernatural was there. He tried to see if other people had been murdered in the same way but he found nothing. He never caught wind of anything that even remotely sounded like Sam's killer. But what Dean didn't realize, was that when he left town, a little girl laughed wickedly in the waiting room of the hospital, waiting on her next victim to arrive...

* * *

A/N: So what did you guys think? Review please!! 


End file.
